colour in this final breath
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: "Anything interesting?" "Oh, definitely. A relatively large planet full of nothing but books, a frustrated businessman and a potential sabotage or invasion... This is bound to be good."


**Notes: First things first, as this is a part of my NaNo project and also the story I broke 10k with, I received a dare from a participant from the Young Writers Program named Mackenzie: " _Write a goodbye note from one of your characters. Write why they left and/or their deepest confessions. You get to know your character and it is very fun._ ". Thank you for the brilliant idea, Mackenzie. Please don't ever read this.**

 **Written for Steven Moffat Appreciation Day over on tumblr, predictably for this ship in all its shapes at once because these characters - River, Eleven, Twelve and Moffat's Ten - are the ones I've always loved the most about the show. So, although this is tagged as Twelve/River, there are plenty of references to other instances of their history because it's where they began, after all; this is only focusing on the eventual end of it, when it comes. There's some 25 minutes left before it's actually the 18th, but I won't be around much tomorrow, so it's getting posted now.**

 **Title inspired from Moby's _The Last Day_ \- interestingly enough, the song which also inspired the last time I wrote about this specific scenario, a good five years ago.**

 **Hope you enjoy it and feedback is always welcome!**

* * *

"Yes, I'll be there. _Yes_ , I'm sure. No, I don't care about how quickly—I'm a _time-traveller_ , Lux, I don't need you to tell me where and when to land. Just bring your team along and I'll see what we can do." River clicked off the call with something that looked like genuine relief and then looked up, likely startled by the realisation that she had company. "It's rude to eavesdrop."

" _Not_ what I was doing." The Doctor just happened to come into the console room at the exact moment when whatever communication device she was holding had rang and had also happened to not leave for the entirety of the conversation that had followed. He hadn't been able to help himself as soon as the name _Lux_ had left her lips. "Anything interesting?"

"Oh, definitely. A relatively large planet full of nothing but books, a frustrated businessman and a potential sabotage _or_ invasion..." River flashed him a quick grin as she picked up another few of the knickknacks she had lying about and stuffed them into her bag. She had that familiar glint in her eyes again; the one that always told him of just how _exciting_ she found the new direction she was going in. "This is bound to be good."

"Are you _packing_?" The words came out much sharper than he'd intended them to, but it was difficult to hold them back. How had he not seen this coming? She'd been talking about a new expedition for weeks and although he'd been paying attention, it had clearly not been enough. Their time on Darillium had had its interruptions from both of them – it was an entire planet to constantly watch over for the Doctor and a whole universe for River to wander about and push history in whatever direction she saw fit. The Halassi Androvar accident had been neither the first nor the last one of its nature, he had soon found; it was, in his wife's mind, the equivalent of a weekend-long con job between all of her other assignments. At some point, he'd stopped working up the energy needed to be scandalised by it.

"I'll need to if I'm leaving, yes. Lux might not be the greatest client, but I'd still like to get there on time. He sent me all the data I'll need to get to his capsule."

"You can't ever be late if you travel in time."

"Depends on who's driving me."

"I'm not taking us to the Library."

 _Now_ she was paying attention. "Who mentioned anything about a library?"

"It's easy to connect the dots from this— synopsis of this expedition that you just gave me. There's only so many planets covered in books out there and of _course_ you'd pick the one with all the legal troubles, considering all the legal troubles you already—"

River's smile had turned fonder now, as if the talking in circles was an irritating habit that she nevertheless held some affection towards. It was exact opposite of the firmness he'd been trying to display. "You don't have to come if you don't want to." She was by the console's side in a second, typing in a short message and sending it out. The Doctor didn't have to look to know what it contained, but it was there all the same; the feeling of the words sticking to his throat and taking his breath away. "I'll just text someone more responsive."

"River, _don't_ —"

"The TARDIS knows what to do." She didn't understand, had no way of seeing this for what it was and it was already too late; slipping out from between his fingers and spiralling out of his control faster than the Doctor could keep up with it. "You'll receive that. _Eventually_."

"And what if it's someone who doesn't know you yet?"

"You know, it never seems to matter. I've tried that before – I cleaned up after myself, don't worry – and it doesn't matter where and when it is, you just—" She shrugged, as innocent as anyone could be while admitting that they'd erased your memories on numerous occasions. River's personal version of a conscience could be funny like that. "It might take a while, but you always go with whatever I've told you. I wonder if it's true, after all, that bit on Gallifreyan psychology about not needing to recognise the body to know the person. It always seemed so strange, but it does make sense in retrospect."

"Perhaps it is." Trust River to find something to analyse and examine about messing with her own timeline. "But – and this is just a theory, I wouldn't know – what if it doesn't work _this_ time?"

"It always does." She'd stopped fiddling with the controls and her improvised luggage to look at him again, that strange, irritating mix of condescension and impatience written all over her features. "I trust myself and I trust you. What else could I do? Wait, no, I'll need to get that one guide—"

She wandered back out of the TARDIS and into the field waiting outside, looking through the backpack she'd left there until she found the one she needed. The Doctor leant on the doorframe, the feeling of suffocation, unreal as it was, only intensifying further. There was nothing he could do, _nothing_ , not without endangering them both as much as he would the rest of the Universe – so much had always depended on the two of them – but there had to be something. A solution or a trick, or—

The Doctor looked away, his eyes straying up to the towers and the deep blue of the sky above them. It wasn't the pitch black it had been just a few days ago. It had been beautiful when River had first pointed out the difference to him; now, it was almost terrifying, but that wasn't much of a surprise: beautiful unknown things had a tendency of scaring him.

 _Things end, because they have to_. He'd told her so back on Christmas Day so many years ago, during their first few hours on Darillium, and she'd accepted it. It was a limited time, but it was theirs and River, for all her enhancements and all the similarities between them, was _mortal_ because of him. She'd never had any intention of making it last longer than it was supposed to. Just letting it be for some time while they were together had been enough.

He'd always been greedier than she could ever be in that regard.

"Doctor." She was back in front of him now, reaching up to cup his face in one hand just like she'd done for the first time so many hundreds of years ago and in a few moments's time. "What's wrong? Don't lie to me," she pressed at his attempt to wave her off. "It's just an abandoned planet. If there's something—"

"It's nothing you can help me with." _Not here, not now_.

"I suppose not." The short-lived laughter that accompanied her smile was nervous now; shier, somehow, as if the thought was both upsetting and impossible. "I was never going to be able to help with this, was I?"

He didn't need to ask how she knew. Or rather, he needed to, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Death was such a simple thing to discuss when it was about people who weren't them; who weren't _her_.

"No, I'm afraid." His hearts had reached an almost rapid rhythm now, doubtlessly fluttering under her fingers where they were splayed over his chest. "I'm sorry. I thought that it would be easier once we had already reached this point, once you _knew_... but I never meant for it to go like this. Your entire life, I've been— I did this. None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for me. I'm so sorry, River."

"My entire life, you've been there. Trust me, I wouldn't have it any other way. No, not even now, not even if we never—"

"You don't have to think about that."

"But I do." She'd come close enough that she needed to look up and her eyes looked slightly glossier than before. For all of an instant, the Doctor decided to believe that it was just because of the reflection of the stars in them. "I don't know what's going to happen to me now and I think that I would really like to find out, but I want to do it right."

This was what he had dreaded the most, really – the realisation of just how close she was to never seeing him again, or at least, not _him_. No one deserved to live with that kind of knowledge; no one deserved to have their life written out for them by history and rumours and legends before they'd even been born. River had always been more fascinated than offended by all of it, but that didn't make it any less traumatising. Even now, so many years down the line, there was nothing that could erase _Demon's Run_ from his mind. _All this, my love, in fear of you_. She had known, back then, had been once again forced to remember what her upbringing had been like and had been more honest than she'd ever allowed herself to be previously.

She'd been right, too, although he was sure that she would try to deny it if he brought it up now. One way or another, she was here because of him. How much more horrible did it make him that he couldn't bring himself to take any of it back, had he been given the chance? It was so _fragile_ , this history of theirs, and the Doctor treated it with a strange sort of reverence, too afraid to do anything at all lest he took something away that he wouldn't be able to recover. River had never really paid any mind to that – as much as he told her about the rules they had to have and as much as she had followed the majority of them, she had still spread herself all over his timeline, making sure that nothing would ever really end for as long as she had the kind of ideas that required his assistance. Even the TARDIS – she'd known how to pilot it with this console from their first meeting back at Hydroflax's ship and she might have seen it _before_ and— and it was all too much to think about, really. The fact that he'd been offered the comfort of never really having to say goodbye to the possibility of seeing her again and that she was the one who was taking it away now felt both cruel and all too fitting.

The Doctor refused to cry. It was the smallest relief he could offer, making sure to be in control and allow her to let go, but both the refusal and the ultimate giving in seeped into his voice when he spoke again. "I don't think there's such a thing as doing it right."

"I'd still like to try." And wasn't that just _typical_. "It's all right, really. I've been thinking about it for a while."

"You have?" A quick nod was all the response he got. The Doctor's arms wrapped around her waist to bring her into an embrace, tight enough to feel her pulses against his but loose enough to still be able to look her in the eye. "You never said."

"It was never the right time. You were always so quiet when I mentioned that I wanted to visit the Library one day that I just started thinking that something must be wrong with it and then, more recently..." River's smile was as rueful as it was comforting. "Well, I couldn't help but notice. The sun is almost here."

So it was. It had been a gradual process at first, taking weeks and days and then hours and now, it felt more like a matter of minutes. "It might be." If there was one thing he wasn't used to giving up in front of, it was the course of time. "It's just a star. It doesn't _mean_ anything." And suddenly, he was the one bargaining; the one pointing out all the possible exists and niches that they could hide in. "River, these past twenty-four years—"

"It's been more than that, though, hasn't it?" She didn't wait for a response. "We've travelled everywhere and anywhere in the meantime, escaped to other places and times for weeks— Doctor, we've cheated enough, don't you think?"

 _There's no such thing as_ enough _for you_. There had never been, neither from his point of view nor hers. The Universe had always been hers to play with. "Have it your way, then." They always ended up here, somehow. Always her way. The Doctor leant down for a kiss and she allowed it, only to pull away when it had the chance of getting deeper. "We still have hours before full sunrise."

River shook her head. The first rays of the sun were already stretching over the horizon, burning their way through the ground and towards them. The strands of her hair caught some of the light, shining brighter than copper when he tried to smooth it into place. "We've got minutes. I've already sent the message and set the coordinates. I have no idea what the issue with the Library is and if it turns out to be something dangerous, I can't afford to leave you there all on your own. Not when I've landed you in this situation in the first place. And if something happens to you, that could mean—" River trailed off, glancing to the side as if she needed a moment to compose herself. "No. It has to be this way. Whichever you I'm going to meet, he's going to be there and I'll have to return the favour."

 _Please_ , he wanted to say, _it's not worth it_ , but it was far too late. They'd both gone too far, too deep, for there to not be any consequences if their places were to switch. If her heart had been the only one broken, then perhaps she would have agreed, but so many worlds owed them their continued existence that anything but playing their parts had become impossible quite a while ago.

He could have at least given her a perfectly ordinary screwdriver, the Doctor supposed; one that wouldn't force her into an out-of-body existence that anyone – even River – would eventually grow to resent him for. He hadn't, of course. It would have been another thing for him to agonise over despite making it all more acceptable for her; another thing to hurt too much while he paved the future for them both when she didn't have the faintest idea what was at stake. If the Doctor was honest with himself – which she preferred not to be, as a general rule – he would have admitted that he would never be able to deprive his past self of this one thing that could make the separation with this complete, fascinating stranger even a little easier than it would have been otherwise.

"Minutes," the Doctor echoed. He wiped away the tear threatening to fall from the corner of her eye. _Not just the stars, then_. Was anything ever, really? "You're not giving me a lot to work with."

"Good."

"Good?"

River kissed him again, feather-light and unassuming.

"Makes it all a little easier, doesn't it?"

"It's never made anything easier."

"I wouldn't know; you never shared a single thing that I might want to have for this mission." There was no accusation in her tone, although the sympathy in the words was more than he could bear. "For all I know, nothing remarkable is even going to happen and I don't even need to say some grand big goodbye because we're going to run into each other again at some point."

He definitely couldn't breathe now. "Say it that way, then."

River raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"

"Your goodbye," the Doctor clarified. "\If you're going to give me one, say it like you're going to come back."

River's inquisitive expression softened. She leant further into his touch, one hand cupping his cheek, her touch warm and grounding as always. A few more strand of sunlight had crept around them, colouring everything in shades of gold. Contrary to his own words, the Doctor held on tight as if it had ever been enough to keep her rooted to the spot where he wanted her to be. This was what she had always deserved; _this_ – beauty and sunrises instead of the endless night they'd supposedly agreed on having all that time ago. "I'll see you again, Doctor."

There were so many things running through her head that he didn't even have to strain to hear them all. _I hope I will, at least. There's so much more to say, even now. Why did I never say it all? We had so much time at our hands, but never enough for this. I think I still have some time left. Do you? Do we? I can't—_ He retreated as quickly as he could. This was _personal_ and, more than that, he'd wanted to be lied to. Her personal goodbyes would only come sooner later once he was tied up and helpless to do anything but watch her promise him things he both craved and dreaded. He had no part in this.

"I'm sure you will."

When he kissed her again, River allowed it, tilting her head back and somehow pressing even closer until the Doctor was essentially leaning onto her, one hand still keeping her near while the other buried its way into her hair.

It felt desperate, more a challenge to the Universe to try and take her away if it dared than it could be anything else, but he didn't care. How could he? Appearances and pretending didn't matter when there was so much at stake; when she would be disappear from his arms any moment now. It had happened so many times in their shared, linear past regardless of which face he was wearing - which part of him she'd been getting to know - that he had nearly allowed himself to forget what it had been like at the beginning. It had hurt so much back then and he'd been so, so careful, but with time, he'd started letting her in and where had that taken them? Back to the Library. All roads led there in the end, it seemed. It didn't matter what he did or tried to change while also keeping them both save. It had never made a difference, not once. She was always leaving in a thousand directions at once and one of them was always towards certain death, but there were only so many times he could save someone that, ultimately, had never been particularly interested in salvation.

Letting her go had always been a sacrifice. Back then, during that first meeting, the Doctor had blamed himself for it regardless of the choices she had made and he'd thought that perhaps, it could all change one day. He couldn't jeopardise their combined timeline by somehow forcing them to switch their places, but as more time had passed, he'd stopped being terrified by how many people he was willing to put in that chair-like contraption as long as they weren't her. In his darker moments - and the most painful ones, like Trenzalore and yet another not-quite-goodbye - the list of exceptions had been really rather short. In his darkest ones, the list had included him as well.

Not that she would ever allow it, of course. He hadn't fallen in love with a person who would. He'd watched her fight and run and kill her way to freedom and to cage her now - to take that final choice away - would have been a much bigger crime than any he had ever committed. She had been able to forgive him for the way he'd saved her, but she would have never been able to accept _this_.

The Towers had started their song once again. It was a distant, mournful sound; heart-wrenching in a way it hadn't been when they had heard it for the first time on their crashing ship. _Twenty-four years_. It was nothing, _nothing_ , and he should have never—

"It's all right," River whispered against his lips between quick, nearly frenzied kisses, pulling just far away enough to speak. She'd felt as much of his turmoil as he had hers. The Doctor opened his eyes again. The light was almost blinding now and she was a supernova barely contained in his grasp, ready to scatter herself halfway across the Universe once the right moment came. "It really is. Whatever happens, Doctor—"

In a burst of artron and chronon, she was gone.

"No!" The Doctor could hear his own voice as if from underwater as he reached out, grasping for something that wasn't there. He could still feel her everywhere - in the air of time that she carried around herself wherever she went, in the warmth of her in his arms, in the burning sensation her hands had left wherever she'd touched him. He'd made a mistake, a terrible one. He should have never asked for this. A proper goodbye would have done just fine because he knew what would happen, had always known that there was nothing he could do to change it. Trying to spare himself had never been any help; why would it be different now? After everything, he should have known better than to expect a second change. "River, wait—"

Back into the TARDIS, a short note had been glued to the console, eerily reminiscent of his psychic paper. The Doctor typed a quick, furious message before she could get far away enough into the Vortex to miss it, but it was too late - her words were already materialising on the makeshift letter, clearly in real time as she wrote her note.

 _Told you I'd run into someone else. He hasn't been much help for now, but he'll come around once I tell him what it's about. You always do. No danger in sight; just a bath. - R_

The memory of what she was describing was right there, clear as day. He had known so little of her and it had hurt so much that he had wondered if it would ever stop. _It will,_ the Doctor wanted to tell himself, _and it'll get so much worse then that you won't manage to do anything but be happy about it all._

Not that he would listen, even if he had, at some point, advised himself against it. He'd never been good at that where River was concerned.

 _So it's someone you know, then?_

 _Oh, yes. Not very well yet, but he's an easy one. I've been around that block a few times already, as I'm sure you know._

 _Be careful._

 _Never._

There was nothing more for some time, but it was understandable - River would be busy with him somewhere around right now. The Doctor back then had found another note from her in his TARDIS and it had been all about the Library again, along with some advice. He was almost entirely sure that it was still around, kept somewhere in the back of his bookshelf, safe from the wear and tear of time.

 _I think he got my message. Time to go now._

 _See you soon, Professor Song._

 _Don't wait up._

He _did_ wait up, if only to see if she would cross every boundary established yet again and say something that he had pleaded her not to but fervently hoped for. It seemed to take forever, but then again, most things did in the nothingness between worlds.

 _Gone to the library. Back as soon as I can. x_

One by one, the lights of the TARDIS faded to a dim glow above him.


End file.
